


Just this once.

by soriksorik



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soriksorik/pseuds/soriksorik
Summary: Lucy goes back to 1865 to find some closure and stumbles into a not-so-unexpected situation.
Relationships: Juliet Shakesman/Robert Lincoln, Juliet Shakesman/Robert Todd Lincoln, Lucy Preston/Robert Lincoln, Lucy Preston/Robert Todd Lincoln
Kudos: 11





	Just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters of the general idea for the Timeless series.  
> I decided to take some creative liberty with this piece, I hope you will not mind.  
> For baudelcire on ig.

**May 04, 1865.**

**Springfield, Illinois.**

Lucy shivered as she moved through the silent streets. It was as if she had entered a ghost town and perhaps, in a sense, she had. Everyone was in mourning. The whole country wept for their lost president, and with him, their lost hopes and dreams. It seemed the weather was in mourning too. It was chilly for this time of the year, and the sky above her was slowly being crowded by storm clouds.

Wyatt and Rufus were trailing behind her, making conversation about something Lucy could not hear. They had been skeptical about returning, let alone allowing Lucy to attend Lincoln’s funeral, but she had managed to convince them and the concerned parties that it was something that had to be done. She  _ needed _ to be here, for closure.

At least, that is what she had told herself. It was comprehensible, considering she had allowed Lincoln to die. She could have perfectly told him and Robert about the assassination, could have saved him and America’s hope. Yes, perhaps it would have changed history in ways Lucy did not even wish to imagine, but it would have saved a life. The life of a man that still had so much to live for, so much to fight for. It would have saved Robert, too. He would not have lost his father, his world would not be falling apart now. Lucy imagined he felt a little bit like she did, knowing that Amy was gone. Alive but not really living. Breathing because she had to, pushing forward, but not really catching onto the moments. She was grasping at the straws of life, attempting to make sense of it all.

The cemetery was heavily guarded, as was to be expected. Lucy had not thought about what she would have told the guards or how she would have attempted to get through. She could use Robert’s name, of course, but it felt as if she was betraying him. It was bold enough of her to show up here as was, let alone get in somewhere where she wasn’t invited using her ‘connections’ to the deceased’s son.

There was low chatter rising steadily as she neared her destination. Lucy tilted her head up, her eyes falling on the figures massing by the entrance. She searched their faces, some familiar, others not-so-much. They were all wearing dark long coats and tall top hats, strikingly black against their bleak surroundings. She, too, had worn a black dress, and a dark veil covered her face, an equally black fascinator adorning her brunette locks.

“We are really sorry, Robert. He was a great man and he still had so much work to do,” a man said and Lucy felt as if someone had pushed a knife into her gut, twisting it around painfully. Wyatt and Rufus had long fallen behind her, but she did not care. She would not be needing them here, anyway.

Lucy inhaled a shaky breath and moved towards the man that had uttered the previous phrase. She recognized him to be Grant. They had met that Godforsaken day at the Theater. Thankfully, at least he did not die. However, her aim was not to catch Grant’s attention, but to call upon  _ his _ .

She recognized him quite well now. The familiar set of his shoulders, the curve of his neck that met a few messy curls that soon came to hide under a hat. Lucy refused to acknowledge just how many times she had imagined him in her dreams, tried to grasp onto the memory of the feeling of his skin against hers.

Grant’s gaze trailed to her when she neared and she watched him raise his eyebrows. Robert, catching onto his companion’s movements, turned. Lucy was already looking at him, her brown hues soon meeting his lighter ones. There was a flicker of something across his face when he registered who she was. Lucy did not quite have the time to read it, but she knew it was a small salvation from the pain he was drowning in.

“Juliet.”

It was a breathless whisper, his gaze running over her features in disbelief. Lucy felt another knife being stabbed into her. She had not even been  _ honest _ with him. Not only did she let his father die, but she lied to him in such a horrid way, and used him to ensure that no one would have managed to kill anyone that did not need killing. Who was she to decide if Grant deserved to live and Lincoln deserved to die? Why did she not just save them both?

Robert seemed to have found his senses soon enough, because she heard him clearing his throat and in a moment her hand was in his and he was lifting it to her lips, allowing his lips to collide with her knuckles, “Miss Shakesman.”

“My condolences, Mr. Lincoln,” Lucy whispered, offering him a small curtsy as she attempted to map the feeling of his lips against her flesh into memory. She felt that they were rough on her skin, but not in an unpleasant way, surely worn away by his teeth.

Robert let go of her hand, straightening up once again. She saw the stiffness return to his shoulders. It had eased when he saw her but now, with the mention of his father, it was back again, and stronger than ever.

“Thank you,” he muttered as Grant left them to their own devices, sensing that perhaps it was best to allow the two a moment in peace. “I did not expect to see you here, Miss. After the way you disappeared with your companions last time, I thought that was it.”

And it had been, or so history had said when they had returned the first time, but Lucy knew she could not just close that chapter of her missions without first finding some form of closure, without saying a  _ proper _ goodbye.

Robert motioned for her to move forward and Lucy noted that everyone was moving into the heart of the cemetery now.

“I could not stay away,” Lucy muttered, slowly beginning to move towards where the rest of the crowd was gathering. “I feel partly responsible for what happened. If perhaps I had reacted sooner or…”

‘…or said something when I had the chance to.’

Lucy thought that last part to herself. She could not speak it aloud, it would not make sense to him and it would only make the matters worse, for herself. He could think she was involved in the conspiracy, have her arrested perhaps. It was best she gave away no indication of her knowing anything.

“You could not have done anything, Miss Shakesman. Please, do not blame yourself for something you had no control over.”

Lucy’s gaze traveled to her companion and she was surprised to have their eyes meet. She offered him a weak smile and he returned it, straining to pull the corners of his lips up.

Lucy realized then that she had missed his smile. It had been so innocent and full of light, and his laugh… it was a sound that could infect anyone with its happiness. She wondered if he would ever laugh like that again, for anyone.

Lucy found herself in his, temporary, residence later that night, per his invitation. He had organized a small gathering to commemorate his father after the burial had been completed and had made it a point that it would be easier for him to breathe if she was there, of course if that did not intervene with any plans that she may be having.

Anything was better than coming home to her perfectly healthy mother and missing sister, so Lucy had agreed. She knew Wyatt and Rufus would be easy enough to bend to her will. Hell, they could even go back for the night and return for her tomorrow, once the Lifeboat was recharged and fully functional once again. She prayed that Flynn would decide to give her this small courtesy and not travel to any other times to destroy more lives for just a little longer.

There had been somber chatter through the evening, guests reciting to Robert their happy memories with his father. She could see the strain it was all taking on him,  _ feel _ his pain radiating into her, and yet he had to keep up his composure and nod, listening to every word. Lucy could only imagine what he felt, considering her had been at it for three weeks now. He must be quite worn out, suffocating in his own body by the pain he did not even have time to process.

She remembered the look on his face that night, when he had pushed past the crowd outside the theater, covered in his father’s blood, to face her. He had looked lost, unsure of how he was to continue, of what was to happen. She understood him, had wanted to comfort him, but all she had done was offer him a half-assed apology and hold onto his hand.

Lucy had held onto his hand in the evening, too, but with more meaning. She had stayed by his side, noticing the slow tremble rising in his hand as he listened to more and more happy ramblings about his father. She had given herself the liberty to slip her hand into his, this time tightening her hand on him and keeping her hand there. Thankfully, her skirts were large enough to bury the sight from prying eyes. She felt him squeeze back, his calloused fingers applying a steady pressure to her hand. The trembling stopped. Even if this was only a temporary solution, it was better than nothing.

They were alone now, sitting in the drawing room. It had begun to rain outside, the water crashing down mercilessly. The maids had drawn up a fire and had brought them tea, per Robert’s own request. They had been seated in high armchairs before the fireplace, a comfortable silence settled between them, listening to the world outside mixed with the steady cracking of the wood in the fire.

It was Robert who finally broke the silence, his voice coming out rougher than what she was used to. “My father loved taking a cup of tea before bed.”

Lucy had turned her head to look at the man. He was looking into the flames, or if she was being precise, past them. She thought he was trying to pry away the reality before him and seek out something that neither of them could catch onto from here.

“He said it calmed him,” Robert continued, the same empty look on his eyes. “I remember being younger, just a small boy. Scrawny and with constantly bruised knees. He would sit me in his lap every night, a cup of tea in one hand, a book in another, reading to me. Sometimes, he did not even need a book.”

His voice was now changing, the intonation something she could not exactly catch onto or decipher, but she felt a lump rising in her throat as she listened, her fingers trembling.

“He would just tell me stories, some true, others made up. I would usually fall asleep before he was done, finding myself in my bed every morning without fail. At first, I was too young to understand how I would end up in my own room having had fallen asleep somewhere else, but as the years passed, I came to learn that my father carried me from the drawing room to my bed every night. He did the same for my siblings.”

“He sounds like the perfect father,” Lucy whispered, a sympathetic smile curling her lips before she could stop herself.

Robert let out a laugh, but it was hollow. None of that previous light was to be heard in it, not even a small shred. Lucy felt her heart sinking.

“He was the greatest. I know all children say that about their fathers but… he just —”

The chocked sound that came from him was recognized by Lucy immediately and she watched him double over, his face falling into his hands. His body shook and she heard his heart wrenching sobs echoing around the room. Slowly, Lucy slid out of the armchair, making her way towards him. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her touch gentle, almost seeking permission. She was unsure how he would react to being comforted; from her experience, men did not appreciate people seeing their ‘weakness’, although to her crying was not a weakness, but a simple sign that even men were human and that society should not force them to be anything else.

He fell against her, without a second of reservation, and Lucy wrapped him in her arms. Her mouth pressed to the top of his head and she breathed him in, rocking him in her embrace, her palm running down his back in a soothing manner. Lucy allowed him as much time as he needed, welcoming him with her arms. He deserved to have a moment to process through his pain and understand where he stood. His world had crumbled around and he had not even had time to find the new ground he was forced to stand on.

Lucy was responsible for this. Lucy and her damn need to preserve history. She could have stopped this from ever happening, and perhaps even stopped other disasters. There would be far less lynchings in history’s books, as Rufus had pointed out, for one.

Robert pushed her away, rising to his feet and turning from her, his hands hastily coming up to his face and wipe at his eyes. Lucy stepped back, allowing him space, her gaze burning into his back.

“Forgive me, Miss Shakesman,” he whispered, shaking her head as he ran his hand through his hair. It was now a mess of tousled curls. For a sinful moment, Lucy wondered what they would feel like threading through her fingers.

Lucy had to fight with herself from telling her her true name. What good would it do? Only bring forth questions that she did not want to answer, and force her into lies she did not wish to tell.

“Please, call me Juliet,” she muttered, finally, after a long pause. “And it is okay to grieve,  _ Robert _ .”

There was a particular softness in her voice as she spoke his name, allowing herself to savor the feel of it against her tongue. Slowly, she took a step closer, resting her hand against his back. He was tense.

“It is healthy to let your emotions out, otherwise, they will eat you alive.”

Robert turned towards her slowly and Lucy saw his red-rimmed eyes, his tear-stricken face, the pain written loud and clear on his expression, every part of him almost calling out for help. Lucy allowed herself to press on, her words flowing out of her without much thought. She relied fully on feelings.

“I am here for you, for whatever you need. You should not have to face your pain alone and if you have fears, know that it is completely normal to be afraid. It is not weakness, or whatever else you may believe. It is part of being human and if you do not allow yourself to feel what you  _ need _ to feel, it will just continue building up inside until one day you just explode and bring about a damage much worse, with many more casualties than necessary. I am here, Robert. If you need to stay up all night and talk, or to just sit in silence, or chat about anything else that could take your mind off of this, I am right here and I will not be going anywhere.”

Lucy paused, her erratic gaze, that had been darting from the foot of the armchair to the fireplace, finally resting on Robert’s face. He was looking at her so intensely that Lucy almost felt as if his gaze was burning her, scorching her flesh as it raked over her features.

In a moment he had pinned against the wall, his mouth on hers, his hands on her face. Lucy gasped into him, her  _ much _ small frame falling flush against his.

The kiss was hot, needy and breathless. His calloused hands against her porcelain flesh was a sensation she wanted to drown in, basking in his smell and  _ taste _ . He tasted better than she had imagined, not that she  _ had _ imagined it, of course. That would be absurd, and insane… however, mostly it would just be absurd.

Just like this was…

This was totally and completely absurd.

Lucy’s hands slipped into the  _ tight _ space between the two and she rested them on his chest, palms flat, before pushing him away. She had to catch herself not to whine as his mouth disattached from hers, his hands no longer cupping her face. She could not allow herself to get lost in him, even if she wanted to. Not only was it not proper for unmarried ladies to be kissing men they barely knew, but Lucy could not allow herself to drown in a man that had been dead for over a century to her… a man who she should not even know, if they were being honest.

Robert looked horrified with himself. He was the perfect gentleman, so Lucy understood where he came from. Frankly, she would not have expected him to do what he had done, either, and yet she had welcomed it with open arms… even if only allowing herself the satisfaction for just a few moments.

“Miss Shakesman… Juliet… I—”

Poor thing, he was so appalled that he was even lost for words. Not like Robert Todd Lincoln to have nothing to say.

Lucy moved, before she could think better and stop herself. She knew they both wanted it and where was the harm in allowing herself to have something that she wanted just this  _ once _ ? Her whole world had been turned upside down, she was allowed to have a moment where she could just  _ feel _ and not  _ think _ .

Her mouth crashed down on his,  _ hard _ . He was hesitant at first, but once he saw no grounds for danger, he melted into her. This time, he was careful in the way he kissed her,  _ gentler _ . His hands were on her waist, burly palms almost consuming her. Her fingers were in his hair and she was satisfying her fantasy, memorizing what it felt like to have his messy curls threading through her fingers.

Divine. It felt divine.

When they finally pulled away, coming up for air, Lucy ran her tongue over her bottom lip and it took her a moment before she could meet his gaze. He was gazing at her with a softness she had not seen in his eyes all day, it was  _ almost _ the same carefree look he had worn the first time they met. It made her heart skip a happy beat.

Robert opened his mouth, clearly about to say something but Lucy shook her head, bringing up her fingers to gently press them against his lips.

“Shhh, don’t say anything.”

Robert laughed, a laugh that had a little more life in it than that hollow sound he had let out before, and she felt his lips press a gentle kiss against the pads of her fingers before he maneuvered her in his embrace, his cheek resting on the top of her head whilst her head lulled to rest on his chest.

Lucy promised herself that it was just tonight. Just this once.


End file.
